It is an ominous wind blowing. We usually appreciate the light breezes that temper the heat of the tropical sun. But this wind blows constantly and hard. The ocean swells are up, and what is usually a continual rolling thunder on our reef is now explosions of water and coral. Even the lagoon is throwing three foot waves onto the beach. We skip our daily swims. One doesn't have to go swimming in less than ideal conditions..when you live in a tropical paradise.

Christmas will be the exception. It is important to swim on December 25th. At home they will be bundled in coats and sweaters, in mittens and boots, but my letter home on Christmas day will mention smugly that I had gone swimming.

The holidays are fast approaching; my first away from home. Each daily mail call brings a new wave of cookies and good cheer onto the island. My folks surprise me with a three pound canned ham and a box of crumbs that used to be Mom's peanut butter cookies.

We approach a cook at the mess hall and beg a pound of butter, then on to the bakery and get a loaf of fresh baked bread still warm from the oven. In the evening with the radio playing carols, the boys in tent 4, row 3 have a Christmas party with ham sandwiches, cookie chunks, and Joe Cantatori's macaroni soup.

We assemble a punch out paper Christmas tree with paper ornaments that Dad had included in my package. The 12 inch tree is set on my footlocker and will have to suffice for decorations this year.

The wind blows harder. Weather reports warn of a typhoon in the mid Pacific. Christmas day I take a short swim in a choppy lagoon, and write a letter home.

On the 26th we receive news that we are in the path of a typhoon. We fasten things down in the Depot Supply storage yards then leave work early.

This evening in tent 4 there is a lively discussion.

"How bad is a typhoon? "
"You'll find out when waves starts coming across the island "

"Where's the best place to go:"

"I'm going to be right at the top of the hill with my M-l to keep you guys from pushing me off. "

We always talked about " the hill" on flat little Eniwetok. It supposedly was 8 foot above high tide, but nobody was sure just where that hill was.

"I 'm going right up to the top of the water tower "
"In typhoon winds I don 't think so. "

"If it's our turn to die, then we 'll just die. Now go to sleep."

It may be you guy's turn to die, but I still got car payments to make. "

"Yeah, Whitmore, everybody dead but you, because it's too late for us to buy a ear. "

"G0 TO SLEEP! "

"Maybe we should all get life preservers."

The 97th is a grey and windy day. We make our preparation. The canvas on all of the tents is rolled up and then lashed to the tent frame with canvas strips.

We take our cots, duffel bags, and foot lockers and crowd into near-by corrugated metal Butler buildings. What we can't move or don't have room for, we stack on the concrete floor of our tent and cover with canvas.

Several of our group are detailed to help the Coast Guard prepare. Their Loran station has to broadcast continually. They fill sand bags and build walls to keep water away from the powerful electrical equipment.

In the Butler building, cots are jammed together, and we sleep fully clothed. There isn't a lot of talking tonight: Tomorrow is T-Day.

We awake to an overcast sky with the howling wind. Leaning into that wind we make our way to the mess hall and eat breakfast. While there, we hear the good news.

Permission has finally been granted to move us by landing craft to the large ships in the lagoon to ride out the storm. The bad news: The lagoon is so rough that it is unsafe to move men out to the large ships.

We stand in awe looking out on the Pacific. The wind continues to build. It becomes difficult to hear over the booming surf and the bellowing gusts. Where the ocean waves hit the reef, tons of water is flung sixty feet in the air. This causes five foot waves to cross the 200 foot reef toward us. Reaching our shore they surge up and over, and the water continues across the island into the lagoon.

I instinctively step up onto a tent frame as a wave breaks. Large one foot chunks of coral roll and grind in the swirl of waters below me. I quickly move on.

About l/2 mile down the shore in the lagoon, our two sleek crash boats drag their moorings and wash ashore. They are ground to kindling against the rocks. Engineers working against time, maneuver a giant crane with the hopes of lifting the boats clear of the water. The best they can do is to pull out the engines, wondering if even those can be salvaged.

The Island Commander's home was built overhanging the ocean. As the waves pound it, men work frantically to remove the furnishings. The porch's collapse results in one broken leg.

Nearby, the metal wall of the mess hall breaks loose at the bottom and tons of sand and coral boulders wash in. But the troops must be fed. Supper is served that evening from tables set up outside. The sandwiches and juice taste mighty good.

That night we again sleep in the metal building. It is evident the wind is starting to subside. Word is passed that the typhoon has missed a direct hit on our island and we have suffered only the fringe.

The next morning I return to our tent to clean up and am greeted by a forlorn paper Christmas tree sticking out of the sand. We shovel, sweep, set up, and unroll. Our home is back to normal in about two hours.

At night the bull sessions start again.

"See, that wasn 't so bad I told ! ya "

"Sure, when I saw the latrines weren 't knocked down, I knew you 'd be OK. "

"Those guys at the Loran station were working in about a foot of water. "

" You guys think it was such a breeze. You should have been on KP. "

"Shut up and get some sleep. "

"I really wasn 't scared "

"Shut up. "

"If we had life preservers, we could always have swum out to the ships. "

For the next two weeks we work a day at our regular job and then a day on clean up. Sand and rocks in the mess hall are shoveled into wheelbarrows. Water mains are dug up and emptied of sand. Roads are patched where asphalt has washed away. Then it's back to normal as if nothing happened.

In appreciation everyone on the island receives a letter of commendation for "heroic conduct" during the typhoon. That is, all except the two men who broke into the Officers' Club bar and decided to make their final hours on earth worth living.

Dick Dunlap
Email:DDunlap2@aol.com

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